by Susan Firman
CHAPTER 17
To Catch a Bear
Hauptmann Resmel strode into the hospital section. Most of the medics were prisoners, a mixture of English doctors and nurses and two German doctors who were supposedly in charge. However like most of the medical staff in the North African conflict, English, Empire or German it made little difference to treating the sick or wounded. Doctors and nurses worked side by side, carrying out their duties to the best of their ability.
“Second lieutenant Turner?” Hans asked. “Is there a Nurse Turner here?”
The medics nearby were too busy to answer. Someone must have heard the Hauptmann, for a loud voice called the name out again.
One of the English doctors made his way between the rows of stretcher-type beds, a mixture of sick and wounded prisoners, sick and wounded soldiers from the Afrika Korps. The camp often received the more serious cases sent over from one of the small field first-aid units which were situated much closer to the main front line.
“Sorry, Captain but she went off duty half an hour ago. You’ll either have to look for her in the women’s quarters or I could send her to you when she comes back on duty at sixteen hundred hours.”
The young doctor waited patiently for an answer. Everything took on a time of its own in the camp; healing was often delayed due to the overbearing daytime heat as patients sweated on their beds. Water was rationed and only those suffering from dysentery were given their full ration. The rest had to wait their turn to quench their thirst or wait until the water delivery had been made. Occasionally the truck was delayed and then the body flagged in its duty and every task had to be laboured and forced. Every day, even merely living sapped all their energy. Doctors and nurses needed many periods of rest throughout the day if mistakes were not to be made.
Hans found himself rubbing his little finger.
Funny, he thought afterwards. He’d not done that since he had been in England.
“Send her over to my office, doctor. I will be there this afternoon. Sixteen hundred hours will be fine.”
“Certainly, Captain. Anything I can help you with?”
“No. Just send the nurse.”
Hans made a mental note of the fact that this young man preferred to call him by the English equivalent of his rank. Maybe it was because he could converse in English far better than any other German in the camp. A few had picked up some English words, just as others had done with German but it was rare to find somebody who could speak so fluently.
At precisely four o’clock, a knock sounded on his closed office door. He had lost any awareness of the time. He was busy with important paper work which he had spread across the desk. Without looking up, he snapped out the usual order to enter.
“Herein!”
The handle turned. Nurse J. Turner entered. She stopped on a spot just inside the office entrance. She waited, watching the top of the Hauptmann’s head as his fingers gathered the papers into a very tidy pile. He glanced up.
They stared at each other in amazement and disbelief. He rubbed his little finger; she adjusted her glasses. Finally, his throat was clear enough to speak.
“Jan!”
“Hans!”
Then, they both spoke at once.
“What are you . . .” she began.
“ . . . doing here?” he finished.
“I should think that is obvious, seeing how I’m dressed.” She indicted her nursing uniform. “Are you as surprised as I am?”
“Yes. Most certainly, yes.” Hans stood and pulled a chair from the corner nearest to him. “How is Andrea?” Hans wanted to know everything possible about his child.
“She is well. We never heard a word from you again the minute war was declared.” Her voice was full of emotion; a mix of accusation and regret.
Hans forced himself to ignore it. Jan would have known full well that all communications were stopped between their countries. He carried the chair round the desk and motioned to her that she could sit. She did. All the while her steady unbelieving gaze told him that she was having trouble with the situation they were in. He half-sat on the front edge of the table where he positioned himself only a small distance from her. The glasses that divided her face were still very much reminiscent of the Jan he had known before but the face that looked up at him was no longer that of a child but of a woman in her prime. He found that he was pleasantly surprised by her appearance. There was something there that he had never noticed before. Yet he could not decide what that something was. He found himself observing her most carefully until the intensity of his concentration made her feel uncomfortable and she finally dropped her eyes.
“My aunt was told that you had been killed,” she mumbled awkwardly.
“By whom?”
“I don’t know,” she replied awkwardly. She looked down at her lap and played with her fingers. “One of Gerald’s friends, I think. Goodness knows where the information came from. We weren’t told. Gerald said a friend who had been over in France early on had found the body of a German soldier with the surname of something like yours. Somehow, we assumed it was you.”
“There are a lot of lies told during war. Lies become big business.” His voice sounded bitter. “You should not believe everything you are told.”
“I don’t!” Jan answered with absolute conviction. She removed her glasses, wiped them on her skirt and set them back on her face. “I did not say that I thought it was true.”
He did not want to discuss the matter further for where was truth now, anyway? Somewhere along the line it had become distorted or lost altogether. Neither could he compartmentalise her as he could the other prisoners. He could not treat her as an enemy but then neither could he be seen to openly treat her as a friend. It was a darned awkward situation to be in.
“Know anything of Robert Brinkwater?” he asked in a casual manner, hoping to calm down Jan’s outburst.
“Robert?” She seemed surprised. “Yes. I think he ended up going in to the RAF. Same as Gerald but Robert went with bombers. Beau-fighters, I think. I get news from Anne from time to time.”
“What squadron is he with?”
“Can’t answer that, Hans. Sorry, that bit is classified.”
He let that go. He understood her reluctance and decided it was not that important so decided not to pursue the matter.
“Dangerous occupation. Flying. Is Gerald still throwing aircraft around the skies?”
“I believe so.”
“Still with hurricanes?”
“I think so.” Her eyes focused on his own military medals . “Flying is not the only dangerous occupation. You didn’t get those for going on holiday.”
Jan was never one to miss a thing. He shook his head but didn’t offer any information.
“I had no idea you were a nurse out here,” he said. He had sized up her uniform together with the red-cross symbol over her breast
“Yes,” She patted the symbol several times before going on. “On call-up I did nursing at Queen Alexandra’s and then joined the ATS, um, the Auxiliary Territorial Services.” She indicated the insignia on the top of her sleeve. “Sorry, Hans but that’s all I’m allowed to tell you. Idle gossip and all that. We’re told to be so careful these days.”
He nodded. He understood. She frowned and he could sense that something was worrying her. There was an awkward silence for a while.
Damn this infernal war.
He was finding the situation difficult. The longer he waited and looked at her, the more he was reminded of . . . only this time it was not of Miss Turner. But who?
“The last time we heard you were in England, you did not visit.” She pushed her glasses back and looked him right in the eye. “You didn’t come to see Andrea and that hurt. She’s still your daughter or did you choose to forget?”
The mention of his child again brought the sting of a tear in the corner of his eyes. He had not intended to turn his back on the child. The war had forced them apart. Now he could only hope that the fighting would soon come
to an end for it was becoming clearer that only a return to peace would enable him to be with his daughter once more.
“I have never forgotten Andrea! Even though I am not near her does not mean I love her less. I do pray that she is well.”
“The last time I saw her she was,” Jan replied. “Until I was posted here, we were together. Aunt and I have been her family. She and aunt are still living in the same place but I am not sure you would recognise her any more.”
“Who? Miss Turner or Andrea?”
“Andrea.”
Hans wondered whether Andrea would ever forgive him. It still hurt him deeply inside for she was all that was left of Caroline. He had to hang on to that, at least.
He thought of the way even he had been enveloped in the promises and glamour of their leaders. The excitement and frenzy had been overwhelming, especially when Renard was around. He had brought his enthusiastic friends home to the family, persuading Uncle Karl that their leader had all the answers to the country’s woes and that they were standing on the brink of a new and exciting era. Renard had been especially excited after attending the large torchlight rallies in the city centre or when he had gone to the Lust Garten and told them all about the captivating speeches made by the Führer and his propaganda minister, Dr Josef Goebbles.
So, what promises were made now? Only that to do with the reality of war: a war that was severing relationships and splitting families, not uniting them as Dr Goebbles had promised. It had seemed so simple and straight forward when the National Socialists had promised work for everyone. A promise of an expanding economy in which everyone could work together in the unification of all German-speaking people. Everyone who had struggled for so long from the end of one war to the beginning of this, for whom those promises had sounded so inviting: a new Germany without the troublesome elements that disrupted society and made life a misery, had been sucked into the political frenzy that had promised so much. Where was this new Germany, able to demand respect from all the nations of the world; this new Empire stretching and uniting Europe that would last for a thousand years?
He was reminded of the wedge that had been driven between those he cared most for and his duty as a soldier on the opposite side. He found the thought disturbing and at the same time he was angry with himself for being in such a ludicrous situation. Hearing Andrea’s name again scrunched his stomach together as if it had been forced through a tight mangle, the pangs of guilt suddenly making him want to hit out. He stood over Jan and directed his frustration towards her.
“You had no business bringing Andrea into the conversation,” he hissed, threatening her with a wild, stormy look. Before he could stop himself, it sounded like old times again. “You can never be mother to her; she is not your child. You should not have come out here. You should have stayed in England. War is for men to fight. It’s not a woman’s job!”
Jan jumped to her feet and faced him so close that he could feel her breath. Her eyes burnt like two fire coals behind her lenses. He had humiliated her. She was insulted by his rash, stupid comments.
“I didn’t train to kill like you! I’m a nurse, not a killer! My job is to heal the injured, not to maim them! And there are many, many men who have their bodies maimed or torn to shreds. You know that already, Hans. You and your rotten guns and tanks and bombs! Look at the mess we’re in!”
“England should not have declared war on us. We were attacked!”
“By whom?” A look of shock flashed across her face. She was genuinely taken aback by what he had just insinuated.
“Poland. Polish forces attacked East Prussia.”
“How do you know that?” She sounded shaken and breathless.
“Dr Goebbles. When we tried to defend our borders, your government declared war. I even heard your declaration on the wireless!”
“You attacked?” The indignity in her voice was strong. “Get your facts correct. Your leader ordered your troops to advance into Polish territory. You attacked first! Come on, Hans, you would have known! Your lot smashed your way through Poland destroying everything in your path. You set out to destroy the place!”
His ears were closed. Anger had made him deaf to her words. He did not like it that Jan was so forceful. It was too much like the battles they had before.
“The strategy of warfare is for men!” He retorted, spitting the words out in defiance. “Men are the generals and commanders. Keep out of things you don’t understand!”
He had expected the old Jan to rise against him again. Instead, she moved a step further away and this time looked mournfully him like a plaintive pup.
“Oh, Hans, how you’ve been fooled. Propaganda. You said we should not believe everything we hear. Oh dear, I fear you have been taken in by deceit and lies.”
He had not thought of it like that. He knew the official versions that came daily in the broadcasts were a stretch of the truth but the papers that arrived on his desk from the Abwehr, pointing out the failings of those on the opposite side, he had considered to be much closer to the truth. He had thought of his superiors as being honourable men who were more loyal to their country than to the leader and men like Ott. As the seed of doubt entered his mind, he was angry with himself and ultimately with what Jan had just pointed out.
“Why did you have to come into a war zone, Jan? You should have stayed in England! Stayed with your aunt and with Andrea!”
“Wait a minute, Hans. I was sent, like you. And, secondly, you were the one who left your daughter. Without me and aunt, she would be in an institution. I think more of her than you do, and she’s not even my child.” The eyes behind the glasses blazed. The muscles around her mouth were taut. “I would hate to see the child brainwashed and turned in to a little Nazi, like you. Thank goodness she is still in England!”
He was going to say something but the warnings of men like Pfinger made him change his mind. If anything did get back to the top brass, Hans knew his life would not be worth living.
Jan was also at the point of losing control of herself. In her emotional turmoil, all that she had endured came gushing to the surface, overwhelming every sensible response in her mind and body.
You should have stayed back in England! His words played with her mind.
“Do you really think I didn’t want to stay?” Tears began to well up in her eyes. “Aunt and I love Andrea. Aunt’s like a grandmother to her.”
“Neither of you can replace Caroline,” he said dryly.
“By law we can,” she retorted.
His eyes narrowed as a nagging doubt as to his connection with Andrea surfaced.
“What do you mean by that?” His eyes narrowed as he waited for her to retaliate.
“Andrea Grace. Oh, work it out, Hans. You could never have legal custody of her. Not now, not ever. The authorities would never allow it.”
He reeled back from the realisation of what Jan was trying to tell him. It had become a tug of war for possession and he was angry that Jan seemed to have won.
“What? How could you!”
“Andrea Grace, Janine Grace . . . the authorities think there may be something in that.”
“The Grace family did not even recognise Andrea as their granddaughter. They did not want anything to do with her. And her mother was their own daughter!”
“It is your fault the authorities regard Andrea as an orphan. Can’t you see that?” In an automatic gesture, she pushed her glasses hard against the bridge of her nose. She was frustrated and angry at the same time.
“What could I have done?”
“You should have married Caroline before Andrea was born, that’s what.”
“I did what I could. I sent you money for her. Doesn’t that count?”
“You still should have stayed and looked after her. In England.”
“And you should have stayed in England and done your nursing there. You have no right being here. None what so ever!”
Jan’s nostrils flared and her eyes flashed like incendiaries. Sh
e pushed her glasses firmly backwards and he knew he had now pushed her over the brink. She shook her brown hair free from her nursing cap which fell on the floor, and at the same time, her cheeks glowed with flames of anger she now felt.
“Maybe, this will show you what I think of your treatment of your daughter, Hans Resmel!”
The flat of her hand slapped his cheek, leaving a red blotch on its surface. He was too astonished to react. Never, in his entire life, had he been treated like this, not even by Jan when they were younger. But they were not children now: he was an officer and she his prisoner. To have struck any officer, a German officer, was one of the most serious of offences and carried one of the worst kinds of punishment. Such prisoners usually disappeared very quickly and even the most inquisitive of war correspondents could not uncover their whereabouts. Jan Turner was poised over a very dangerous precipice.
Hauptmann Resmel quickly regained his composure. He reached behind him for his cap and carefully put it on. He straightened the front of his uniform and slowly drew in a deep breath to control his nerves. He said nothing. He did nothing other than stare at her. He just stood and stared.
Slowly the realisation of what she had done got the better of her and Jan slumped down on to the chair. She cradled her head in her hands as a flood of tears fell unheeded onto her lap. Hans had never seen Jan so emotionally broken up. Her vulnerability shook him up.
“I think we’d both better forget that outburst of yours,” Hans said quietly. He touched her on her shoulder, aware of her shaking body vibrating beneath his hand.
“I . . . I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never done that before. I thought I was over everything . . . it was just seeing you . . . and all that about Andrea . . . and . . . ”
She sobbed bitterly into the palms of her hands. Her tears tricked between her fingers and made her nursing apron wet. He had never in his life seen Jan Turner so upset.
She raised her face and he could see that her tears had made her cheeks and the top of her uniform wet. She wiped her hands several times down each side of her uniform skirt before she was able to regain any composure.
Hans waited patiently. His body had relaxed again. He had learnt to be patient when one of the new recruits broke down under the frightful burst of eneny fire. Slowly, he walked to the door and stood with his hand on the handle.
“It is best that you leave, Jan. Go. Forget it ever happened.”
She could not believe it. He had shown her no real animosity and had just indicated that what had passed between them, would remain between them. Until tomorrow, perhaps. But eight days passed before she was called back to his office.
“New orders have come through. Tomorrow, I leave for Germany. You see, we are both pawns. We do what our masters demand and we have no choice.”
There was no anger in his voice, nor displeasure in his face. He spoke his words with care, looking at her most intently. His change of manner totally surprised her. She stood by the doorway, her body bent over with despair.
“I suppose we do.”
“Jan, we cannot keep having these outbursts with each other.” He reached out and placed an arm around her shoulders. “The world may be at war but you are no enemy of mine. We’ve known each other too long for any real animosity to come between us. After all, you said there was Andrea. I realise the child means a lot to you. She means a lot to both of us and we both want her to be safe and I am pleased that you’ve taken an interest in her.” Jan remained quiet. She wanted to hear what he had to say, for perhaps his words would give her some indication of hope. He continued, “What happened the other day will never go outside these walls. Your outburst never happened. I’d like it to stay that way.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Something just snapped. Like the old days. I thought I had got over all that. I was angry with you . . . and myself. Maybe it was the shock of meeting like this or because of this blasted war. I didn’t ask for this to happen. I guess you didn’t, either. But both of us have been thrown into this conflict. Oh dear,Hans, I don’t want us to be like that photo on my aunt’s wall.”
“Ach, ja. I’d forgotten that photo.” He smiled at the recollection. It seemed detached from him for it was taken in another world, and yet . . . . He expressed his thoughts out loud as he remembered. “Each one on the opposite side. Neither surviving to see the end. I hope that will not be the same for us.”
“Do you have to go?”
“No choice. Duty must prevail! We all have to follow the rules!” He spat the words out with contempt. Jan moved a step closer towards him and he could feel the warmth of her body through his tunic.
“I hope aunt doesn’t hear those words. They have quite a frightening meaning today. I am resolved to live through this, Hans.” She put her hand deep into her skirt pocket and pulled out a photograph. It was of a child, happy and laughing. About ten years old. “Here, take this,” she continued handing it to him. “Hold on to Andrea. She’s the only link we have with each other now. I’d rather like to think of us as . . . ”
“Friends?” He suggested.
Jan hesitated for a minute or so. She had wanted to say that they were more than just friends but in the present conditions, she was prepared to accept that as being so.
She nodded and he tucked the photo into his identity card and put it back in his top pocket. Then, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “We can still be friends, even now, Nurse Janine Grace Turner.” He smiled warmly at her and she felt that old tingling feeling rekindle her fervour for him. “You know, until now I never knew your middle name before,” he laughed.
“My mother’s maiden name.”
“Like Caroline’s?”
“Yes, like Caroline’s.”
“We can certainly never be enemies, then!” His words were earnest, yet firm. He thought of the short time he had had with Caroline. He had loved her so much. And then as his mind wound back the years, a sudden revelation took hold. It was that look again, that hint of something he had been unable to grasp. Now it was staring him in the face. It was the Grace look, the same way Caroline had looked at him and now he could see it in Jan. It came as a cruel connection, for now he was able to recognise it, a most terrible war was tearing them apart and there was nothing they could do to prevent it from happening. He took Jan by the hand and squeezed it emotionally. “For a few minutes, let us forget the war.”
When he finally released her hand, she let it drop limply by her side. She smiled, a warm soothing smile and he felt the pleasure of a deep friendship bind them together.
“Now Second Lieutenant Turner, let us celebrate our friendship, and forget the war.” His tone was lighter, his manner more genial. He reached into the cupboard behind his desk. “May I offer you some something to drink?”
She found she could not speak; no words would come out of her mouth. His actions had astonished her; she was completely taken by surprise. He filled two mugs with wine and they sat side by side: a young English army nurse and a German officer. Together, they sipped the wine. She had not tasted anything so good for a long time.
“Is it French wine?” she asked.
“Italian. It’s flown over when there’s room.”
When he had emptied his small glass, he got up and walked behind his desk. She heard him open a drawer and there was the faint rustle of paper. He walked back round and handed Jan a brown envelope.
“You may need to use this. Take great care of it. It’s your ticket for safety, if you ever find yourself in a difficult situation. I’ve written a letter . . . written out an order . . . stating that your safety should not be compromised. If you are to be moved from this camp or if you have any cause for alarm, just show this to any officer and you will be well looked after. There are orders and rules. From the ordinary soldier to the highest officer of the Afrika Korps, Generalleutnant Rommel himself. Orders are obeyed. To the letter. This letter. It’s the least I could do.” He laughed at his pun.
/>
Jan was stunned. He must have written that letter shortly after their first meeting, even before she had time to make any amends for her own outburst.
“But why? How?”
“You need not know why. How is of no consequence. It is important only that it has been done. I wish you well, Jan and hope one day you will return so England. Let’s both hope things will be better next time we meet. In England again. I may even see you in London sooner than you think.”
“After the war. But that may take years.”
“England still may decide to join the Reich: the greatest army in the world together with the greatest navy. One never quite knows!”
Jan held out her hand, the flat of her palm towards him as if she were touching some invisible wall.
“I don’t think so, Hans. That . . . will never happen. Mr Churchill would never join forces with your present leader.”
“Maybe not.” He gave a small laugh. “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” There was an air of slight amusement in his tone so that she could not fathom if he were not being entirely serious.
“Not in London.”
“Then it will have to be in Berlin.”
“I don’t think I could take kindly to Berlin. How about Salzburg?” She attempted a little laugh. “Isn’t that where you’d really like us to meet?”
“Yes, much better.” His face lit up into a wide smile as he savoured the image. “In Salzburg, then.”
She turned the envelope over several times in her hand.
“Thank you for this, Hans. I’m most grateful. I hope you haven’t taken too much of a risk.” She took the envelope, adorned with the Reich’s black swastika of officialdom, and folding it in two, pushed it deep into her skirt pocket. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. I hope it will be of use.”
He put on his hat, ready to escort her to the outside just at the same moment when she turned around and made a hasty move towards him. Before he could react, she placed a brief kiss on the very cheek she had so cruelly slapped only a few days before.
“Please forgive me, Hans. I want us to leave with good memories. Keep yourself safe. Some day, all this will end.”
He escorted her out of the office and down the steps and as he watched her move away and merge into the background, he wondered what fate had brought them together again. He reflected on the unusual coincidence of their meeting and wondered whether their paths would ever cross again.
On October 3rd, 1941, Hitler addressed the German people:
I declare without any reservation that the enemy in the East has been struck down and will never rise again.
By October 20th, the Nazi armoured divisions spearheaded their attacks and were poised ready to take Moscow. Everything in this war was moving along splendidly, just as the Führer had foretold. Very soon, the propaganda minister told them in his broadcast to the forces, the Russian Bear would be shackled and would only be capable of dancing at the whim of the invincible Nazi leader.
For several weeks, the land link with the occupying forces failed as tanks and trucks ground to a halt. The late autumn rains had set in; the Rasputiza or mud period had arrived early. The lines of communication needed to be re-connected if the campaign were to be successful.
Hauptmann Resmel opened the folder containing his new orders. He wondered whether Sturmbannführer Ott had had something to do with it. It was frightening the way those in the SS were able to have an influence over other military departments. It was not usual policy to move a man away from his assigned unit but Hans had been told that this was only a temporary position and that he would rejoin his unit as soon as the assignment was completed.
In the meantime, the few weeks leave he was due would give him time to enjoy the comforts of home again and become more acquainted with Fräulein Kohler. He had welcomed her letters when they arrived even though three or four would arrive at the same time.
His staff car pulled in to the curb just infront of the exclusive restaurant which overlooked the Spree boats sliding up and down that part of the river which flowed through the picturesque part of Berlin’s Mitte. There was Elisabeth in a smart, tailored skirt and jacket complete with narrow-brimmed hat, gloves and handbag. She waved, then walked quickly towards him, grabbing him first by the arm and then running her gloved hand up until she touched his shoulder.
“Father booked a table for us, Erwin” she said smiling. “It’s been paid for and everything so all we have to do is enjoy ourselves.”
“I did not expect this.” Hans had been taken by surprise and was at a loss as to what he should say next. He was finding things difficult being first torn away from a regimented army life and now being thrown back into a bustling, vibrant city in which anything to remind him of the war seemed out of place. It was an adjustment all servicemen had to make every time they were given leave.
“We do not have to get the train, either,” Elisabeth carried on as they walked arm in arm through the front glass doors and into the large hall of well-presented white draped tables set for fine dining and companion conversation. “Father has arranged for his chauffeur to collect us at two but as he is new and not as familiar with the city as Horst was, it may be some time after two when he arrives.” She laughed and fluffed up the back of her hair as one of the waiters approached them.
“Major. Can I be of assistance?” The man was stiff but most polite.
“I believe you have a table for Herr Resmel and Fräulein Kohler.”
“Certainly, Major. Will you come this way?”
“After we can sit and watch the river ferries and I can tell you everything that has happened since I saw you last.” Hans let Elisabeth go ahead. When they reached their table, the waiter pulled out a chair and indicated that the young lady sit.
A few well-spent days with Elisabeth and a far gentler life consisting of dinners, concerts and conversation was exactly what he needed to remind him how good life could be and for the things he was fighting for. But when he really thought about it, it made little sense. He had noticed this time that food was not as plentiful as before the war and that the expressions on people’s faces were more weary and drawn. Were these the people he was fighting to protect? He guessed that his English friends would be thinking that they were doing exactly the same thing: protecting the homeland, the families and their way of life. He looked at Elisabeth, hanging on his arm, content to be with her hero, living for the moment because what was to follow would sadden her again.
It was always an upsetting time when one had to part. Hans never knew whether he would return to savour the comforts, however slight, of normal domestic life. But Elisabeth did her best. She was his perfect hostess and never complained when he fell asleep in any one of the plush Kohler armchairs which he did frequently during the first week of leave but Elisabeth was always there, watching over him whenever he awoke.
Outside, the air was cool and the clouds hung low. After the desert heat and the hot, glaring sun, the misty mornings in Neubrandenburg seeped like freezing riverlets between the layers of his clothes and his skin shivered somewhat. Only two weeks; not enough to allow his body to acclimatise before his new orders were to catapult him into far colder regions. He told Herr Kohler that it would not be a long campaign and he hoped to be back within a month and a half. He had only been assigned to the job to make sure reinforcements and provisions got safely through to the divisions in the east.
The last reports sent back to those in charge of the front, was of the army convoy trying to push forward across the flat northern plains. The armies needed more tanks, more men and more food and with this delivery, a new thrust could be organised. In reality, their vehicles had become bogged down in sticky, squelching mud. The convoys tried pushing forward, men digging out tyres and straining their shoulders like draught animals to keep the vehicles moving forward. It was imperative that supplies get through to the front lines but progress was painfully slow.
Temperatures
had begun to drop rapidly. The first sleet showers tore into the men like knives, wild winds tugged at their army coats, trying to pull them up into the billowing black clouds. Without thick gloves, their fingers began to freeze so that the foot soldiers could no longer hold on to their rifles. Men cried out in pain as the toes of their sodden feet began to turn purple. These men had not been equipped for such rough conditions. They had been told they would be home again by November at the latest.
To compound matters, the following convoys of supply trucks became further and further spread out along the route as communication between them and their command headquarters ground to a halt. Lashing blizzards set in. The biting winds howled across the land and the sweeping snowstorms buried everything in its path until there was only a wide whiteness that stretched and became one with a distant horizon. Soldiers froze while their bodies became hardened monument mounds for the dead. The heroes of the Reich and Soviets alike had no soft graves in which to rest. Ice crystals were their blankets, stiff and brittle beds were all they were given to silently share the miseries they had witnessed in this wasteful war. Those left alive became a miserable collection of half-starved wretches shivering and cursing in louse-ridden fox holes; two armies facing each other, praying to the same God for an end to their continual torture.
Full communication channels were finally resumed early in December. A faint, intermittent wireless report got through to the headquarters in Poland, giving details of a reconnaissance battalion of the 258th Infantry division being in sight of the final objective . . . the Kremlin in Red Square.
Just after daybreak the following morning, a weak, broken and crackling message came through from the front. Hundreds of men had been mown down and lay like dead locusts across the fields. The entire Infantry had been forced to pull back.
On the 4th, temperatures had fallen to sub-freezing degrees. Into this vast winter hell-hole Hauptmann Resmel finally made contact with the surviving units behind the front lines. But . . . not in any condition to please the Führer. The glorious army consisted only of a scattering of shivering, demoralised men, together with a handful of junior officers who had survived the attack.
“What the hell are we supposed to be doing here? This is sheer stupidity!”
The young officer in charge was at his tether’s end. Command had been rudely thrust on him before he had the experience or age to lead. He had managed to gather up the remainder of men in his unit and lead them to the relative safety of a group of badly shelled farm buildings in which they could wait for the blizzards to subside. He was pinning his hope just as much on food and blankets as ammunition and tanks to survive, for without the basics, there would not be enough men left to fight or withdraw.
At first the soldiers had greeted Hauptmann Resmel and his men with high expectation. Supplies had got through but they were scanty supplies and bellies were full for only one meal. Tinned sausage, dried potato and something like soup soon elaborated the truth of their isolation and the mood of desperation began to re-emerge.
“Can’t those bastards in Berlin see what’s happening out here? It’s suicide! Total madness!”
“Damn the odd PKW they send us. We need more blankets and food. Hot food. How can an army survive on these scanty bits you have given us? We’ll starve if we have to rely on what we manage to prize off the peasants round here. By the time we reach a village, there’s nothing: no animals, no crops and no stores.”
A long-suffering soldier, young and in his early twenties, yet old and worn down like a man four times his age, sat staring into his metal dish at the fat and pork pieces floating in a sea of broth. Despair had made him bold. Bold enough to throw his reason as to why the ground troops were beginning to crack.
“There’s nothing left because our Stukas have shot the place up. And the Russians have burnt down anything that remained. How the hell are we supposed to fight? No food, no blankets, no bloody ammunition and the way things are going, no bloody soldiers left to do the Führer’s fighting!”
“Keep your thoughts to yourself, man, if you want to survive!” The warning had come from another of the men who had drifted towards the new arrivals.
“Where are the tanks we were promised?”
“We need more ammunition first!”
Complaints were fast and furious. The men felt betrayed and forgotten. They had been ordered to plunder the countryside and smash buildings. They had driven the inhabitants away as their tanks and their trucks had pushed further into the Russian heartland. Now there was nothing: burnt out hulks that had been tanks amid deep snow and empty fields. Only winter darkness, coldness and the constant howling of an biting wind were there.
We’re doing all we can, they were told. But those were empty words. Their rescuer had little to offer. He had lost a quarter of the supply vehicles on the way and it would be days before the rest of the convoy would appear. They would have to dig in and continue to wait their turn. Orders had stated most clearly that Hauptmann Resmel must go as far east as possible until he made contact with the most easterly front line army units but with only a handful of extra troops, his problems were compounded and solved nothing.
The mud froze. The ground became as hard as concrete but at least the remaining supply trucks and tanks were able to move forward again. They slowly scraped their underbellies over the icy mound between the deep wheel-made ruts on either side. If an engine stopped, it remained silent for ever. Men dug, pushed and shouldered those vehicles that still ran, taking turns to coax them forward for neither day nor night gave rest for either machinery or men.
Finally, Hans managed to set up new depot centres along the way. It was just like an expedition to the South Pole he had read about but he hoped he would be more successful than Scott and bring his men through. Slowly his unit edged forwards until it felt as if they had reached the place where the sun itself arose but his efforts had paid and he had opened a pathway to move supplies and equipment to those soldiers on the front lines.
There was hardly enough time to take a breath before they heard the announcement that Germany was at war with the United States. The Reich was to fight the largest industrialised country in the world. An even greater effort would be required to satisfy the endless demands of this monstrous war machine.